In this world we seek wealth and that better life
Finding lies, debt, plague and fear, in this forest of strife
Spirit weak, hopeless, afraid to answer when any query is raised
behind apathy and delusion hide, thinking earth will be unfazed
See the deadly dregs of destructive waste, defiled sea and sand
With our befouling of the heavens, mutating plant and man
Creating wealth is the priority, of humanity on earth
Pantology repressed, to seed arrogance not mirth
The people's voice was muted, for way to many years
Unanswered questions persist, we can't afford to fear
Still round the corner there may wait a new road or a secret gate
To save our world and all humanity from their present fate
Is it possible to correct our mistakes and save this great land
Seems ironic to say but, "Our fate is in the Peoples Hands".
Categories:
pantology, philosophy, satire, world,
Form: Free verse
You silence the noise, from your electric clock
turn on the lights, shower and your coffee pot
Do you feel blame for what you have done
Since, the clock signaled, your day had begun
Hundreds of simple tasks, that we do everyday
No qualm of consequence, cost or whom will pay
Trying to survive, with wife and children we create
No concern of air, sea, land or errors we berate
In life's maze we seek wealth and that better life
Finding lies, debt, plague and fear, in this forest of strife
Spirit weak hopeless, afraid, when any query is raised
behind apathy and delusion hide, earth will be unfazed
Deadly dregs of destructive waste, defiled sea and sand
With befouling of the heavens, mutating plant and man
Creating wealth the priority, of humanity on earth
Pantology repressed, to seed arrogance not mirth
People's voice was muted, for way to many years
Unanswered questions persist, we can't afford to fear
Prospects to correct mistakes to save this great land
Seems ironic to say but, "Are in the Peoples Hands".
Categories:
pantology, education, natural disasters, philosophy,
Form: Free verse
Darest V.C.,
The voodoo was the ill-omen,
Like the Mills bomb of the uniformed;
The voodoo was under-stated:
Youngsters danced by your stygian microcosm;
The voodoo was our ill-omen,
A crypt in this forest of pantology!
Darest V.C.,
The tear-gas tattle in the tavern;
The uniformed patrol perverting the road;
The pestilence of beating rods;
The petrifying forcing of the lasses
In vaults inside the vault;
Are these the few marks
Of the venality in the Ichor?
Darest V.C.,
Of course, not these alone!
Many are limping: few are walking,
And some of the walkers are limping
In their inside –
Of course, not these alone!
We all saw the fallen logs,
These logs – darest V.C.,
Should have been the ready trees
In the forest of their ancestors;
Of course, not these alone!
Many of the stars were lost
By the reposition of your sky,
And we like one long wood
Are the fallen logs of the Ichor!
Then – darest V.C.,
At your kindly instance
Some logs were towed to the ready rascals
Of the regius horse-pital;
Of course, not these alone!
Blood of gods gushed freely
From these blessed horizons of your rod.
Categories:
pantology, parody
Form: I do not know?
A few kids rushed for food;
The seller-proprietors had gone
Away from the ref
Into secret places;
They hid their breathe
From the vagabonds:
The mob in intellect guise!
Food was eaten from the pots;
Those huge canteen pots, full of hotness!
O, water was drank from the taps!
Now, Sir –
The road to the forest of pantology
Received the huge flaming barricade;
It was like that flame
That bore the mark of Cain’s sacrifices:
Roaming across the earth
Evading the sacred faces of heaven –
Then, Sir –
This very road was polluted
By the roaring flame of fire;
Of course, every voice is heard,
Heard in the confusion of Sodom!
This flame burnt beside the gate;
Of course, many faces flashed in terror;
Night arrived in that day,
In this forest of pantology:
The flame and smoke reached
The shrine of old Idemili, the sacred one.
Sir –
More hailstones are hanging
Above the cracked zinc;
More flame may also blaze
On the road polluted by the smoke.
Categories:
pantology, confusion
Form: I do not know?
Sir –
We saw some lads matching
Free from their dungeon
Commandeered by a white-robed priest!
We saw them standing
By the rostrum of the Freedom Square;
Someone asked:
“Was there truly a freedom square?”
Someone replied:
“There was, there is, there is to be
A place where freedom smiles
At the people;
O! the gunless chaps got independence
In this hub of the nation’s epitome
Of scholarism,
Marbled under the fading sun.”
Now, Sir –
We heard the peals of the bells;
The representors made the call;
The lions came with their claws
And lionesses made their presence felt;
The forest was emptied:
She was ransacked to the full;
The rough beasts roamed a full noon!
In a wide silent forest of pantology;
Ah! no weak beasts saw this sole noon:
No goat, no sheep, no dog, no antelope –
The tough beasts breathed
A full day of nature’s breathe.
Categories:
pantology, confusionfreedom,
Form: I do not know?
Dearest Prof –
Upstairs, downstairs:
Racing ref-wards: lasses
(Prof, a roused lad saw them)
Breaking through the prime fogs
Racing like some fleece-hunters
Led by a night-gowned lass
(Where could they be going?)
The peering at something in soils:
Some retreated – wordless!
Like a soul peeved by a sight.
Dearest V.C. –
Many racing clay of lads: restless!
Racing ref-wards as the lasses
(Prof, a roused lad saw them)
A corpse at the rear of our ref
(Prof, a roused lad saw it there)
The thick stagnate flood
The naked log devoid of pistils
Was it a sermon for each beast?
(Who cut down this limping tree
From this famous forest of pantology?)
Dearest Prof –
Each beast: even rabbi-beast
Came and saw himself
In a log: that naked log
“A rebel caught by pig-watchers!”
(A roused lad herd it told!)
Was the log alone in the mad act?
The corpse by the ref
Whose flesh & blood was he?
And those two dry logs lying at Medical Centre
Whose bones & blood were they?
Categories:
pantology, sad
Form: I do not know?
Poesy comes not with mere amplitude;
Nor does her economy make a mind inert!
Call not nonsense what you never comprehend:
Many a greater soul wandering lonely
Through the fields of Infinity
Conceive & perceive them full!
Sound at times counts more than sense
Though sense thought’s partner be at ease
And glories through the rhythm:
Then cease on more from the imaginative thrive!
That median pace in a race for pantology
Where & how our friendly duels begun?
Without remembrance there is no redress?
Categories:
pantology, art
Form: I do not know?